The Murder Of My Beloved IPA And The Rise Of The Great Pretender There was a golden age once -- lasted maybe two decades -- where you could walk into a bar in any good-sized city, order the local IPA, and be satisfied. Those days are gone.January 10, 2020 By Christopher Bedford Boston is a great American city. Flying in over the harbor’s mid-nineteenth century Fort Warren, the cliffs and ruins that inspired Shutter Island, and the half dozen lighthouses clinging to rocky Atlantic outcroppings, it might be the only flight I’ll choose the window seat.
My first lunch in the city is an easy call. A bread bowl of lobster bisque, a half dozen briny oysters, and a Harpoon IPA at Quincy Market’s Carpenter and the Walrus, half a mile from Paul Revere’s famed North Church.
A light golden brown, it is a crisp beer. Clean, refreshing, light on the mouth, its pine and grapefruit notes pair just as easily with a seafood lunch as with a cheese burger or a puff of tobacco. It’s one of a number of great IPAs I can find whenever I return home, including Opa Opa, started by two Greeks who felt like they’d gotten close enough to the American West to justify a cowboy-themed beer and steakhouse.
There was a golden age once — lasted maybe two decades — where you could walk into a bar in any good-sized city, order the local IPA, and be satisfied. The same held true for major airports. Even on an hour’s stopover, most terminals offered the beers their city was proudest of. They might be a little hoppy for your taste, or a little maltier than you’re used to; they might have a touch of sweetness you don’t care for, or you might discover a new favorite. No matter: If you ordered the local IPA, you’d be satisfied. They were all clearly IPAs — as ordered, as expected.
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https://thefederalist.com/2020/01/10/the-murder-of-my-beloved-ipa-and-the-rise-of-the-great-pretender/